Man is not free to refuse to do the thing, which gives him more pleasure than any other conceivable action. – Stendhal

I think that applies to dogs, too.

Booker T. Washington is a six-year-old all black Cockapoo. Midas, a Golden Retriever, who loved to fetch, raised him. Midas, however, only liked to chase the ball. He didn’t actually bring it back.

But, Booker was made to chase a tennis ball. He came from a litter of two. His sister is a retriever, too.

When I pick up the Chuck-it ball thrower, Booker’s body begins to vibrate with excitement. He pants. He looks like Gene Simmons.

Booker will run himself ragged chasing a tennis ball. One time, he ran so hard and fast, I had to carry him home.

Booker’s fast.

Now, however, he’s slowing down a bit. When he gets tired, he stops and rests in the tall grass under a tree.

In addition, Booker’s back bothers him. There’s something wrong with his lower lumbar spine. He hurts. When he’s really hurting, he squeals. It breaks my heart.

But, there’s no stopping Booker.

How does one refuse to let a dog do the thing, which gives him the most pleasure?

Nothing makes Booker happier than chasing the ball.

Nothing.

Therefore, he takes Tramadol twice a day and Rimadyl when he’s really hurting.

Dogs are stoic. They hide their pain.

I try to watch Booker and, if he seems to be hurting, I’ll force him to walk on a leash and we don’t take the Chuck It. However, he still pants and vibrates with anticipation . . .hoping we’ll play. Sometimes, I’ll leave him home when he seems to be in pain. I’ll force rest on him.

In talking to his doctor, we decided the best thing to do is to let Booker be a dog and do what he loves.